


Aid and Comfort

by CyanideBreathmint



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Classic Kylux, Consensual but not safe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-TLJ, Power Imbalance, Sexual Violence, hatesex like whoa, knife hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideBreathmint/pseuds/CyanideBreathmint
Summary: The First Order needs one leader, not two. General Hux is unsatisfied with how the new Supreme Leader has treated him. The new Supreme Leader, on the other hand, would love to reach an arrangement with him. In that discussion Hux learns that sometimes it is better to be feared than loved, and sweeter to hate than love.---Content warning for: Consensual but not safe blowjobsContent warning for: Threats of violenceContent warning for: Slight power imbalance issuesContent warning for: Mild violence





	Aid and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a spiritual sequel to my TFA-era series The Fox and the Wolf, and works on some of the same narrative assumptions - that Hux and Ren are bitter exes, that Ren ruined the relationship by doubting Hux and trying to Force-interrogate him. It is canon-compliant, however, but details of it differ from my previous classic Kylux work because this was written after Armitage day, and the other stuff was written before.

Armitage Hux had managed just 6 hours’ sleep in the last 72 hours, and his eyes felt like hot embers pressed into his skull. He had been functioning on stimulant shots and bitter Tarine tea, iron discipline and white-hot rage. The cut in his lip had stopped bleeding, at least, and the swelling of his bruised eye had gone down enough that he could now see out of it, but he was dangerously close to his limits. He avoided his reflection in polished surfaces, knowing what he would see. His face hollowed, skull-like. His hair tousled beyond the ability of pomade to hold it in place. Blood spots on his uniform jacket, and eyes that looked like piss-holes in the snow.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t like sleeping. He just hadn’t sufficient time for it most days, and now was one of those days. The debacle on Crait and the flight of the last Resistance survivors weren’t even at the forefront of his mind at this point. Casualty figures and damage control were. He lifted a shaking hand and punched in a request for an update on a console, realized that the words were jittering in his gritty eyes. The Resistance was insane. Sane people did not use hyperspace jumps as suicide tactics. 

The _Supremacy_ was crippled, and it and several of its escorts were no longer spaceworthy. Fleet reinforcements had arrived to help with the evacuation and recovery of personnel and materiel aboard those ships - ships that would have to be stripped, salvaged as far as possible and then scuttled to deny outsiders access to First Order technology or resources. Hux had delegated as much as he could to other fleet captains, and his crews were all well-drilled in shipboard evacuation and damage control routines, but he was now the senior ranking officer present, no matter what the new Supreme Leader Kylo Ren thought. 

“Captain Opan,” he murmured hoarsely to his chief aide, “the stimulants. I need another one.” Tritt Opan, with the silent knife and the vial of poison close to his heart. Hux had dismissed him several times during the last three days so he could snatch a meal and a rest, so he could help Hux prop himself up as the sleep debt took its toll. 

“No, sir,” Opan said very softly, in a voice meant for Hux alone. “I’ve already administered three shots to you in the past 24-hour cycle. That’s the hard limit Medical has set.” Discreet even in disapproval so as not to undermine Hux’s tottering authority. 

“I can’t afford to collapse on the bridge, Captain,” Hux said very softly, leaning briefly upon the edge of his console. _Disgraceful,_ his father would say, _soft._ “Not in front of the crew. Do it.”

“No, sir,” Opan repeated. “At this point you would perform your duties better if you rested and had something to eat. These stim-shots have diminishing returns. They’re not a real substitute for rest.” 

_Tell me something I don’t know,_ Hux wanted to snap, but he bit it back. Opan was a loyal officer who had been at his side for ten years. This was not a man to alienate, not when his unofficial duties also included sabotage and the occasional assassination. “I didn’t expect insub- insubordination from you,” he said nevertheless, stumbling briefly over the word. His ability to speak was starting to go, and he resented his own weakness.

“General, sir,” Opan said coolly, emotionlessly, “my duties include making sure you are in a fit condition to command, and you need to rest.” 

Hux shut his eyes, fought another wobble. “You’re right,” he mouthed to his aide but did not say out loud. He cleared the screen of the console before him, and it took two tries before he punched the right key. “The rest of the watch is yours, Captain,” he said to his relief officer on the bridge, took a long, hard breath to steady himself. He held his aching back parade-straight, bit briefly down on his tender lip at the way the world trembled again and then made himself walk slowly, unhurriedly back to his quarters. Captain Opan waited for Hux to reach the doorway leading out of the _Finalizer’s_ bridge, and then fell quietly into step behind him. 

\---

Hux let himself sag in the privacy of his quarters, let Captain Opan perform his duties. It was odd how this display of weakness did not shame him, not in this context. Tritt Opan was simply the one person Hux had permitted to see him as a man with foibles and limits, as opposed to the model of the perfect First Order general that he presented to the rest of the galaxy. 

There was just no way around such personal revelation when he spent so much time working so very closely with his aides, and it was simply more efficient to choose a close-lipped officer as an aide, and keep them loyal with rewards and recognition. Hux sat heavily at the edge of his bed and let Opan help him out of his gaberwool greatcoat, tipped his chin back to bare his vulnerable throat so Opan could help him unfasten the collar of his uniform jacket. His fingers hung nerveless, twitching in his lap, and left to his own devices he would simply have collapsed into bed, boots, sidearm and all.

“Thank you, Captain,” Hux whispered shakily as Opan continued to relieve him of his uniform and then lay backwards, naked across the bed as Opan left him temporarily to fetch soap, water and a washcloth from the refresher. Hux wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, but the stimulants buzzed still in his veins, sang frigid anxiety into his racing heart. The kiss of the rough washcloth was a welcome one against Hux’s clammy skin, on the gritty lids of his eyes, the nape of his neck and the sensitive backs of his knees. 

Hux was tucked safely into the sheets, his worn uniform hung up for cleaning when a soft chime came from the security panel of his door. The plasteel slab slid away in its frame to permit a service droid into the room, one carrying a large mug of something. 

“Just a little gruel, sir,” Opan said from his perch at the edge of the bed, holding the mug up to Hux’s chin, “and mind the lip as you go.” The thin gruel was milky, sweetened, hot, and it sank heavily to the pit of Hux’s belly, raised his pulse as it passed hotly down his gullet. He could not remember the last time he had eaten. Stim-shots suppressed hunger pangs, and the stress of the past three days had killed his appetite almost entirely. Hux’s cut lip stung a little at the touch of the mug, but the gruel lent him enough strength that he took the mug into his trembling hands, held it like a small child would as he sipped at it, closing his eyes against the steam that bloomed and rose to caress the tender skin of his face. 

Hux didn’t realize he had drained the mug until he dropped it numbly into his lap. It bounced once on the padded duvet over his lap, and then lay on its side, where Opan scooped it up. He left the emptied mug on Hux’s nightstand and broke open a standard-issue medpac, applied bacta patches to his cut lip and bruised cheekbone, sprayed an analgesic on the bruises dappling his neck and elbows, knees, flanks and back and the heels of his palms. “Shall I leave you to rest now, sir,” Captain Opan asked as he finished up, “or do you require more comfort?” 

Hux opened his mouth and tested his voice, found it hoarser but still adequate. “Please stay, Captain. I would appreciate your presence.” 

“Very well, sir.” Opan waved the lights into partial dimness as he rose from Hux’s bedside. He returned the medpac to a storage space behind a wall panel, stepped around to the other side of Hux’s bed and then began to undress swiftly, efficiently. Under normal circumstances Hux would have watched him do so with keen interest and anticipation, but now all he wanted, all he craved was the opportunity to feel someone else’s skin warm against his own without having to think about it. 

“Tritt,” Hux whispered as Opan slid naked between the sheets, his leanly-muscled frame angular, matching the razor-sharpness of his cheekbones and the acute point of his nose. He reached clumsily up and caressed the side of Opan’s head, closed his eyes contentedly as Opan pressed his hot mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

“I know what you need, sir,” Opan whispered between soft, cautious kisses and slow, confident touches, “come to me.” Hux could feel himself rousing bit by bit to Opan’s expertise, his cock hanging heavy with blood between his thighs before it began to stiffen, and he gasped soundlessly when Opan closed his fingers around it, began to stroke him so gently that the sensation itself was a sweet kind of torment. 

The air was cool against Hux’s chest, his belly and hips as he turned the sheets away, ran weary hands up and down the bumps of Opan’s spine, over the heave of his flanks. He did know very well what Hux needed indeed - and he had for almost a decade. The fuzzy heat of arousal banished the worst of Hux’s stimulant jitters, and the thrum of his pulse building in his balls, at the base of his spine masked the palpitations he had been feeling for the last two hours of his watch.

“Stars,” Hux murmured against Opan’s clever mouth as he reached numbly up to close his fingers on his cock, savored the pretty sounds he made as he squeezed, touched Opan in slow, rough strokes. Tritt Opan knew what he liked, true enough, but the reverse was also true, and Hux knew exactly how to drive his aide to the shaky, sweary brink, and also how long to keep him there. They had turned to each other so many times over the past ten years. 

Hux had made it very clear before they had first fucked that Opan would receive no special preferment despite their clandestine fraternization - that he was looking for a mutually beneficial situation, not a sycophant, and Opan had accepted those terms with grace and understanding. They fucked lovelessly but not unaffectionately, shared pleasure and relief and enjoyed each other greatly when they did so. 

“I would love to fuck you now,” Opan breathed against Hux’s ear, his voice trembling with want as he shuddered softly against Hux’s touch, one strong hand buried palm-downwards in the pillow under Hux’s head as he held himself carefully above Hux and rocked into each of his strokes.

“I would very much enjoy that,” Hux murmured as he let go of Opan’s cock, reached up to run a wobbly fingertip along the edge of his cheekbone instead, “yes.” They had both left rank behind some time ago, were now only two people seeking comfort against the uncertainty of the future. This was where Hux could let go, and he gave himself over to Tritt Opan, parted his knees and tilted his hips up to let those strong fingers smear lubricant between his thighs, on the sensitive skin of his perineum and the tight bud of his arsehole. He sucked in a breath as Opan slid a finger into him, shivered and held himself still when he felt that callused fingertip rub slow melting circles inside him.

Opan entered him slowly, gently, kept his thrusts long and languorous, and Hux gasped his assent, bit down on his own lip and flinched against the pain when the cut in it reminded him of its presence. It was easy, so easy, like sliding into a hot bath as he ran his fingers clumsily through Opan’s hair, listened to the soft hitch in his throat as his breathing grew heavier. Opan’s body was taut, his sleek muscles tense as he paced himself, and Hux gasped again, moaned against his mouth with each nudge of his prostate, savored each huff of breath warm against his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck. 

Hux was at this point too tired to hold back for long. He reached down and closed his hand on his own sweetly aching cock, gave himself an experimental stroke or two and shuddered against the sensation of it. He began to fall into rhythm with Opan’s thrusts, their movements quickening, growing more careless as they both climbed closer to the edge. 

Hux came first, shivering, keening into the skin of Opan’s shoulder as the white heat that built in his balls and the pit of his belly pulsed deep within him, his spunk running hot and wet over his closed fingers as his cock twitched against the palm of his hand. Opan continued to have his way, fucking Hux hard through his climax, and he felt another sticky spurt of come smear itself over his belly as Opan milked him dry with each desperate thrust. 

Hux managed a long, grateful breath, whimpered at the intensity of Opan’s cock against his oversensitive arse. It was too much and also just enough, his teeth chattering in his skull as Opan’s breathing came in short, sharp pants against his ear. “Yes,” Hux breathed encouragingly, heard his own voice break as it rose to a whine, and Opan’s hips were stuttering forwards, his back arched, those cold eyes shut as he held himself very still. He wasn’t even breathing at this point, his brow furrowed in concentration as the rest of his face began to slacken in relief, and then it was over. 

They lay, the both of them, in utter silence, the only sounds over the room’s ventilation fans their heavy, slowing breaths. Hux was deliciously weary now, the sharp edges of the stimulants banished completely by the endorphins thrumming in his bloodstream, and it was as though his bones had melted softly and gently to pool hotly within his flesh. A strange lapping registered on the edges of his consciousness, bringing to mind his earliest memories of _home,_ of rain and the tides and the rush of waves on Arkanis, under a clouded sky. 

Hux felt Opan move against him, shift as though to climb out of bed, and he tried to say something, realized his voice wasn’t quite working. He swallowed briefly, cleared his sore throat and then reached a sticky hand out to grasp his aide by the arm.

“You can stay,” Hux murmured drowsily, “you’ve more than earned it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Opan, returning to the familiarity of rank and duty. “ I’ll just get you cleaned up here.” The mattress creaked very softly as he slid out of bed, but Hux did not register his departure and return, had already fallen into a warm and dreamless sleep born of utter exhaustion. 

\--- 

Hux woke dimly once or twice afterwards, never enough to open his eyes fully. Little things broke through his lethargy, however. The welcome touch of more analgesic spray against the faint ache of his bruises, a cool cloth wet on his brow. The moisture felt shockingly cold against the heat of his flesh, but that could not pull him straight out into consciousness. 

He was tired, so very tired, and all he wanted and needed was to lie here where it was safe and private, to recoup his flagging strength and spirits. Snatches of conversation drifted briefly into his sensorium, and still he could not muster the energy to rouse himself fully.

“The General. Where is he?” That baritone voice, rich and low. Kylo Ren. His presence here was an intrusion, the last thing Hux wanted to face right now. Hux had rescinded Ren’s personal access to his quarters a scant year ago, but of course Ren had used his unlimited accesses as the new Supreme Leader of the First Order to barge in anyway.

Captain Opan’s voice was smooth, measured, an experienced officer’s most neutral tone in the face of an unreasonable superior. “He is presently resting, Supreme Leader.” 

“I need him,” Ren said, and Hux would have laughed bitterly at these circumstances, at Ren finally admitting to _needing_ him, but he lacked the strength to. 

“General Hux is unwell,” Opan said, his tone now subtly disapproving, insufficiently insolent to be counted as insubordination. “A temporary matter, but disturbing him now will do little good, if anything.”

Hux did not know how he sensed it with his eyes closed, but he felt a tread on the decking beside his bed, felt a long shadow falling across his recumbent form, its weight infinitesimal but present nevertheless. A gloved hand brushed gently against the heated skin of his brow and he flinched weakly from reflex, tried to turn away but couldn’t. 

“How long until he wakes, Captain?” Ren’s voice was now a low, subdued rumble, devoid of anger or petulance. Another light touch on the tenderness of his bruised cheekbone, lingering briefly, and Hux felt his skin prickle involuntarily in an uneasy blend of nerves and wanting. 

“Eight to twelve hours, according to Medical,” Opan said in his best clipped tones, and the hand left Hux’s face. 

“Very well,” he heard Ren say, “notify me when he regains consciousness.” 

Hux managed to open his eyes then, saw Kylo Ren’s broad back receding away from him, and then the door hissed and all was quiet again. Captain Opan leaned over him and adjusted the blanket over him. “Everything is currently under control, sir,” he murmured reassuringly. 

“Good,” Hux croaked, and then surrendered himself to darkness again. The cool wetness of the washcloth again on his forehead, and all he could think about was the way his mother whispered to him when she put him to bed, the light touch of her kitchen-roughened hands. Mother, lost so long ago when his hated father took him away from Arkanis. Consciousness faded, fuzzed into a dull gray as he struggled to focus on his thoughts, and Hux gave his attempt up as futile and went unresisting again into the grasp of sleep. 

\---

Hux was alone when he woke this time. The lights in his bedroom were still dimmed, and he levered himself slowly onto his elbows, registering the stiffness and ache in his neck and shoulders. He licked his dry lips, his tongue scraping the bacta patch on his lower lip as it passed. The cut did not hurt any more, and he sensed that the swelling around his left eye had gone down. He turned his head stiffly, like a holocamera panning, and saw a bag of synthetic bacta hooked up to a cannula in the crook of his left elbow. The bag was almost empty, and it explained his relative lack of thirst and pain at this present moment.

 _How long have I been out?_ Hux wondered briefly, and then he wondered no more as the door beeped softly and slid back to reveal Captain Opan with a medical droid by his side. 

“General. Sir,” Opan said softly as he strode over to Hux’s bedside, the droid following on its treads.

“How long has it been?” Hux asked, finding his voice rough, slightly hoarse from disuse.

“Twenty hours, sir.” said Opan as the droid extended a thermal probe and stuck it in Hux’s mouth. Accessory arms checked Hux’s pulse rate and blood oxygen saturation as he sat waiting for his temperature reading to register. “You have four hours more to rest before the Supreme Leader wants to see you.”

The droid beeped once, softly and withdrew the probe from Hux’s mouth, beeping briefly in Binar. _Vital signs within nominal parameters,_ it said. “I seem to remember him asking you to notify him once I woke up,” said Hux. 

“Yes, sir,” Opan said, entirely too straight-faced, “but I might also have exaggerated Medical’s estimates just a little. Erring on the safe side, to be sure.” Hux laughed briefly at that, coughed as the laugh caught in his dry throat. His ribs were no longer bruised, but there was still a faint soreness in his joints and flesh as though all his muscles had been overused. 

“I seem to recall being feverish.” Hux murmured as the droid took hold of his left arm with its soft-tipped manipulators and removed the cannula, slapping a piece of sterile bacta-impregnated film over the puncture in his vein. It followed that with a broader strip of medical tape to seal the wound off from the non-sterile environment.

“You were, sir. I woke up about four hours after you fell asleep, when I realized how hot you were to the touch, and you were unresponsive. I summoned a droid from Medical and it diagnosed you with exhaustion, dehydration and mild hypoglycemia. Those and your minor injuries depressed your immune system, which allowed an existing upper respiratory infection to worsen.” Captain Opan delivered the news with remarkable restraint and neutrality - not once did his tone ever imply I-told-you-so, even though he was entirely correct in hindsight. Hux should have rested, should have taken more care of himself so he could perform his duties as a general. There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, nevertheless, and its presence puzzled Hux because he was fairly sure none of it was aimed at him. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Hux said as Opan handed him a datapad. He glanced briefly at the reports and notifications lined up in order of importance. The medical droid peeped again and then withdrew its manipulator arms, began sterilizing them internally, before it swiveled easily to wheel itself back out of Hux’s quarters. 

The _Supremacy_ was a complete write-off, its superstructure severed neatly to split the ship into halves. Emergency vacuum shielding had engaged the moment sensors had detected those multiple hull breaches, but hundreds of thousands of its crew had still died, either from the initial collision or vacuum exposure, explosions and fire and smoke inhalation. Its separate halves were still relatively safe, all things considered, and evacuation was proceeding apace, but the ship itself was a loss.

 _Sovereign, Harbinger_ and _Conqueror_ were gone, their reactor containment breached by fragments of the _Raddus._ There was barely anything left of them for salvage crews to recover. _Vendetta_ had suffered multiple hull breaches and significant structural damage, but could be patched up enough to limp its way to a spacedock for repairs, and _Leviathan_ had lost most of its hyperspace capability but was still spaceworthy at sublight speeds. 

Hux shut his eyes against those reports, sucked in a slow breath as he tried to organize his thoughts, but his brain felt slow, sludgy. He needed a shower, one with actual water this time, to shake off the last of the cobwebs. How odd, he mused, that he still thought in terms of cobwebs when there weren’t any spinnerbugs onboard this ship. 

“I will take breakfast after I’m showered and dressed,” Hux told Opan as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, “the usual, eggfruit and breadroot or somesuch. Tarine tea. Set a place for yourself, too, I’m not about to send you alone to the refectory when you’ve spent so much of the last 16 hours on duty.” The _Finalizer’s_ artificial gravity seemed to have been turned up, but Hux knew that it hadn’t. Residual exhaustion, he assumed. His equilibrium was sufficient, however, and he was pleased to find the decking acceptably stable under his feet. 

“Yes, sir,” said Opan, “shall I lay out a fresh uniform while you’re in the refresher?” There was a slight relief in his gaze, one that felt vaguely at odds with the faint tension in his brow, the lines of strain beside his mouth. The source of this frustration was something he would have to prise out of his aide later, over the informality of the breakfast table. 

“Yes, thank you,” said Hux. His skin felt sticky and clammy at the same time, and he thought of rain, of weather that he had not experienced for decades. “I don’t think I’ll need assistance dressing this time, however,” he added over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold to the refresher.

“Yes, sir,” Hux heard Opan say as the door hissed shut behind him. 

Hux studied his reflection balefully in the mirror, at the stiff, greasy licks of hair poking up and out of order, the stubble on his chin. The dark circles still prominent under his eyes, his skinny chest and narrow shoulders, and he fought a growl of disgust at his own slovenliness as he peeled the used bacta patches off his face and dropped them down the refresher’s small trash chute.

 _Skinny guy. Kind of pasty. Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless._ Kylo Ren’s hobby of breaking things almost made sense in this moment, but Hux was a disciplined man, and he stepped wordlessly into the shower cubicle, set the sonic shower to a high initial burst. He waited for the tingling in his skin to fade, and then turned the faucet on. Warm water splashed against his body, drummed against his upturned face, and in that moment he could let himself weep silently for all the pain and stress and fear he had carried like a burden across his back since the destruction of Starkiller Base. 

No-one could say he was crying, not with all the water running down his face. _I’m not useless,_ he told himself fiercely, _even our Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has admitted he needs me._ Hux turned the water off, mindful of shipboard water-use restrictions, and reached for the hard little cake of compressed shampoo in its holder. He didn’t really need it or the soap, not after the sonic shower, but he wanted desperately to feel scrubbed clean, to banish all traces of dirt and disorder from his body.

Hux lathered his hair, put the shampoo cake back where it belonged and then began to soap himself up, savoring the slippery squeak of skin scrubbed clean with a washcloth, and then luxuriated briefly in the hot water again as he let it wash the suds off his skin and hair. 

Hux felt acceptably human again after he had stepped out of the refresher, clean, shaved, with his hair neatly combed and parted. He could hear the clink of dishes being laid out in his antechamber through the open bedroom door, but he paid them little mind. Instead he stepped up to his bed and began to dress efficiently, without looking at his reflection in the mirror. 

Each layer of clothing seemed to take a kilogram or two off his shoulders, as though it were supporting the scant weight of his body like a protective exoskeleton. Hux fastened the sheath of his monomolecular dagger over the inside of his right forearm, bent his wrist to release its retention pin and tested the drop as he palmed the blade out of an imagined sleeve. He repeated the process twice, adjusting the seating of the wrist sheath until its positioning was satisfactory. 

That done, he pulled his uniform jacket on and began to work its hidden fasteners, hooked his collar in place, and then tipped his head back and then forward as he straightened it. His belt and holstered blaster followed. He left his greatcoat spread across his bed, took his gloves up, and walked out to his antechamber. 

\--- 

The first half of breakfast passed in relative silence. Hux was not generally a man for mealtime conversation, being in the habit of answering his correspondence and reviewing reports while he ate, and Captain Opan, as senior aide, had long grown accustomed to his silence. The meal wasn’t anything special, ship-grown eggfruit scrambled with frozen ground nerf, mashed breadroot cakes and stir-fried saltleaf, but it was the first solid food Hux had eaten in over three days. The tannic bitterness of his Tarine tea seemed to jolt him further awake, rouse his appetite, and he found himself fighting the urge to wolf his food down in a disgraceful manner. 

Hux spoke only after the edge of his hunger had sufficiently blunted. “Tritt,” he asked after he refilled his own cup from the brew-flask on the table, “do you resent being a -” he paused, grasping for the right words, “- physical surrogate for my needs?” There was no point in mincing words, he felt. Direct informality was the best way to put Captain Opan at ease, and Hux wondered still at that bitterness and resentment he had seen flicker over his cold angular face.

Opan looked up, not quite startled as he failed to halt a huff of amusement. “No, sir, not like that,” he said drily, shaking his head slowly after a few seconds of thought. “You’ve always been clear that I can always say no, and you are one of the better-looking officers in High Command.” 

Something slick and nauseous squirmed deep within him, something cold that whispered _how pathetic do you have to be that the only people who find you attractive are your pocket assassin and an insane, controlling shite of a mystic who has no idea what reasonable boundaries are?_ Hux pushed those thoughts away, put his cup down before the tea sloshing in it could give away the tremors making themselves apparent in his hands. 

Hux made himself smile, kept the tone of his voice light. “Flattery won’t earn you a promotion, and you know that. You have my permission to speak freely about what is bothering you.” Time to turn up the cards, he thought.

Opan remained silent for a minute, two, his eyes hooded, and Hux let him think, let him formulate his response. “It’s - It’s the Supreme Leader,” he said at last, “Kylo Ren, I mean.” 

“We don’t always get to choose our superiors, Captain.” Hux said mildly, keeping his tone neutral. Ren could read his surface thoughts, could tear through his memories if he so wished, as he had learned on one bitter occasion. Best to make sure that he left no mental evidence of treachery in the forefront of his mind, just in case.

“I know, sir, but he does not respect you. In disrespecting you, he disrespects us, and he is not the First Order. We are.” _At least the propaganda works,_ Hux thought cynically. _In-group cohesion can make people ignore their squeamishness, and do what it takes to support friends, colleagues, kin. That’s how you forge an army._ And that was what Hux had, as much as Ren sat upon his nominal throne. Perhaps it would be better to be the kingmaker, and not the king. 

“You’re naturally too discreet and professional to even suggest out loud that our new Supreme Leader have an unfortunate accident or some bad shellfish,” Hux said, “and I am going to head that possibility off before it even crosses your mind. Given his abilities with the Force I’m fairly sure most attempts would be futile, and I would only be wasting good personnel on the attempt. I value you for your loyalty, Captain, and I would not throw your life away so cheaply.” 

“Very well, sir. If I may ask, what are you going to do about him? The First Order requires one leader, not two.” Implicit in that question was the unspoken truth that most of the First Order military would mutiny in his favor if it ever came to a power struggle. Not that Hux anticipated himself living very long afterwards if his subordinates did act on it. Ren was too unhinged, too angry at this point to play games of political brinkmanship with.

Hux drained his cup of tea, signaled the service droid to refill his plate. “The same thing I did with Leader Snoke,” he said, favoring Tritt Opan with a cold little smile. “Make him understand why he needs me. I’m sure he will be appropriately respectful once he learns how useful a trustworthy subordinate can be.”

\--- 

Hux didn’t know what to expect when he took the short walk to Ren’s assigned quarters. The throne room in the _Supremacy_ was structurally unsafe, unfit for a ruler to hold court in unless they thought of vac-suits as appropriate regalia. He wondered briefly if Ren had installed the throne in his austere rooms - unlikely. The thing would have to be taken apart and brought through the door in pieces for that to happen, and Hux was fairly sure Ren did not have sufficient floor space for its assembly.

The plasteel door slid obligingly open as Hux stepped up to it, and he raised a curious eyebrow as he stepped over the threshold. This meant one of two things. Either Ren had never rescinded Hux’s access to his quarters, or he had granted Hux access just for this meeting. The door hissed softly behind him, cutting the both of them off from the rest of the Finalizer. This was it, meeting the vornskr in its den. 

“Supreme Leader,” Hux said, holding his back parade-straight. The place was still as he remembered it. An unfurnished antechamber, a hard, narrow bed, its lone blanket folded neatly at its foot. A broad table for eating and working alike. 

“General Hux,” Ren purred from his perch at the edge of the table, his skin still damp from the refresher. Small drops of water ran from the mass of his dark hair down his shoulders, over his bare chest to soak into the high waistband of his trousers. His feet were bare. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.” Ren gestured towards his bed, the only comfortable seat facing him, and Hux did not take the bait.

Hux fixed his eyes at a point somewhere around Ren’s eyebrows and fought the urge to look down. He did not need Kylo Ren, he told himself, should not want him. And yet there it was, that treacherous twist in his gut, that flush of heat up the back of his neck. He remained standing, waiting for Ren to get to the point. “What do you wish of me?” he asked Ren, keeping his voice carefully neutral. _The best masks are the ones that come from within,_ he told himself. _Ren’s easier to read now he’s abandoned that helmet._

“Many things,” said Ren, his dark eyes flashing briefly. “I trust you’ve recovered from your recent illness.” Flickers of emotion danced across his face, microexpressions of ambivalence, anger, and something like fear. 

“I have, yes,” said Hux. The knot in his gut tightened as he tried to ignore Ren’s long eyelashes, his wet lips. Hux had previously thought it had been unfair to hide Ren’s exquisite features behind a battered black helmet, but now the nakedness of Ren’s face twisted within him, left him feeling fluttery-sick. 

Ren slid off the table and took a step towards Hux, his bare feet leaving a faint bloom of condensation on the plasteel decking beneath them. For a second Hux wondered how hot Ren had to be to mark the floor so. “Why do you fear me, Hux? I can feel it, felt it when you were lying sick in bed. My touch made you flinch.”

Hux felt the old anger rise within him, old friend and accomplice, sometimes his only comfort. The rage warmed him from within like rotgut, reminded him of the steel in his spine. “Have you ever given me a reason not to, Supreme Leader?” he asked rhetorically, knowing that Ren knew the answer and had known it for months. “Do you not want to be feared and obeyed?”

“It is better to be loved than feared,” said Ren, “but in the absence of love fear will do. You once told me that, remember?” 

“I do remember that, yes.” It had been a quotation from a biography that Hux had been reading at the time, one about the Empire’s only nonhuman Grand Admiral, and he watched regret surface and then fade in Ren’s narrow face, from the slight furrow of his brow to the hard set of his mouth.

“You still want me, Hux. Armitage,” Ren said, almost conversationally, “do you think of me when you’re fucking your aide, hm? I’ve heard he’s quite good in bed. Do you think he’d fuck you if you weren’t so highly-ranked?” Another step closer, and Hux was thinking of Ren’s reach, of those long arms and broad shoulders and the sheer power he had at his command. 

Hux stood his ground, defiant, that old anger coming to his aid. “That’s not currently any of your business. It hasn’t been for a long time. Get to the point.” It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, but it wasn’t as though Kylo Ren appreciated discretion and sense in the first place.

“I think we need to work out the boundaries of our current arrangement, now that we’ve both had a chance to sleep on it. You were wise enough to submit to me and accept me as Supreme Leader, but that could always be a front. Snoke called you a vicious cur, you know, and I know you are.” That hurt much less than Hux thought it would. Phrased like this it felt more like a compliment, an acknowledgement of Hux’s strengths, of his tenacity and will.

“He called you a child in a mask,” said Hux, wondering if this insult would hurt. They were circling each other with words, testing each other’s stances and weaknesses with feints. _Like a death-duel with our wrists chained together, turning and turning and cutting each other’s lives away bit by bit._

A slight hint of anger passed over Ren’s eyes, faded to be replaced by hurt. Touche, Hux thought. He had scored at last. “So he did,” Ren said, sighed briefly, “everything he did with the both of us was calculated to do one thing: make us focus our hatred on each other so we could never become threats to him. He’s gone. Shouldn’t we end this petty bickering?”

It made sense to some extent, Hux thought, but his feelings for Ren did not exist in a vacuum. It wasn’t as though he had woken up one morning deciding to hate the one person he had thought himself capable of loving. “No, Ren,” Hux said softly, fighting his emotions, keeping his expression emotionless like a plasteel mask, “no. I don’t just hate you because Snoke played favorites.” 

“No. You don’t.” And there it was, the pain in Ren’s gaze, a loneliness so powerful it wrung at Hux, doubt and loss and self-hatred stripped bare to dance over his expressive face. “So strong, your hate. So powerful, disciplined, rigid. You hate very quietly and intensely, Hux. And yet you want me. You’re getting hard under that uniform, you know. I can tell. The true opposite of love is not hate. It’s indifference. When you hate someone, they remain in the forefront of your thoughts, held always in your anger. In a way hate can be more intense, more satisfying than love ever will be.”

Something stung in Hux’s nose, and he held himself even straighter. He had cried enough this morning. He did not need to weep more, not in front of Kylo Ren, who knew all his weaknesses. “I don’t think either of us can get back what we lost when -”

“When I betrayed you, I know,” Ren said very softly. They were standing within arms’ reach of each other, and Hux found himself slowing his breaths, summoning his discipline. “I can hear you finishing the thought in your head. But I’m not asking for your love. Merely your fealty. Your allegiance. You may continue to hate me all you want afterwards, as long as you learn your place.” 

_That is not my place,_ Hux thought, _he is not the one to dictate my destiny._ He felt another stab of rage somewhere beneath his diaphragm, rising to choke him with its heat and pain. “Why don’t you put me to the test if you doubt my loyalty, like you did last year?” he asked, too angry to be cautious. “Wouldn’t that be more efficient than this back-and-forth?” 

“It would be,” Ren said very softly, his gaze freighted with regret, “but it would also be very uncomfortable, as you know from prior experience.” 

“Stop playing around, Ren,” Hux said against the phantom pain that was threatening to unman him, sucked a deep breath inwards and steadied his voice. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop fearing me,” said Ren, now standing close enough for Hux to smell the strong soap and shampoo on his skin, in his damp hair. “Hate me if you want. Love me if you will. But we’ll never be able to work together if you continue to be afraid of me.” 

“I’m not a coward.” Hux said hopelessly, tamping down his desire, his hunger for Ren before it overcame him. He was a strong-willed man, stubborn, but even so the effort left him light-headed, empty within. His greatcoat was suddenly stifling, too hot, and he shrugged it off to let it pool at his feet with a soft rustle. 

“I never said you were,” Ren murmured softly. He reached a hand slowly out to Hux and ran a bare fingertip up the curve of Hux’s jaw. That ungloved touch spoke to Hux of good memories, intimate ones, of warmth and comfort and the sheer security he had felt in Ren’s arms, his head against that hard shoulder. 

And then Hux remembered the shock running like ice water through his veins when Ren had forced his way into his mind, the queasiness as his mind had stretched, and then torn as Ren ransacked his memories, and he flinched away from Ren’s hand, reached up with his left hand to close his gloved fist in Ren’s hair instead. “I wanted to give you everything,” he said, his voice breaking from the strain of holding that welter of emotion back, “I would have given you the galaxy.” 

“I know,” whispered Ren, and then they were kissing, all teeth and hunger and gasping like drowning men. Hux did not let go of Ren’s hair, only tugged to tip that sharp chin up as he traced the line of Ren’s scars with his mouth from the side of his jaw to the pulse on his neck, the bunching of his trapezius muscle.

Ren’s hands closed on Hux’s narrow waist, squeezing firmly, and then those long fingers were fumbling at his belt buckle, releasing it, catching his belt and his holstered blaster as they slid down his hips and lowering them gently to the floor. 

_Now,_ Hux thought, acted without thinking about it. He bent his wrist, felt the muscles of his forearm bunch, and the retention pin on his forearm sheath clicked back. His monomolecular dagger dropped easily out of his sleeve, and he closed his gloved fingers on the grip, felt his flesh conform to the contoured handle. He was harder than he had been in a long time, lust and rage and hatred rising up within him like smoke from an offering burnt on some pagan altar, and he reversed his grip on the knife, held its edge just a millimeter or two above the throb of Ren’s carotid artery. 

“Now that I have your attention,” Hux panted breathlessly, mindful of Ren’s strength, of those broad, dangerous hands hanging at his sides, “I wish to inform you that the edge of this knife is one molecule thick. I slit your throat with this,” he said, licking his lips, “and you won’t even bleed until I’ve left the room.”

“What do you want from me?” Ren asked. “My apology?” He was trembling, Hux realized, saw the want in his dilated pupils, desire mingled with fear and something very much like anticipation.

“I wouldn’t be risking my life like this if all I wanted was for you to say you were sorry,” said Hux.“You will never, ever lay a violent hand upon me again, understand? Corporally or with the Force. I am not, should never have been, nor ever will be your punching bag. My father was foolish enough to hurt me, and he didn’t live to regret it.” 

“What you’re doing is treason,” Ren said offhandedly, as though they were having a polite conversation over cups of tea, and a bitter mirth rose in Hux’s chest, left him feeling breathless. Ren was pressed right against him, and he was hard, too, trembling with want. 

_We are madmen,_ Hux thought, _sick and depraved, the two of us. Who gets off on this kind of peril, and who the fuck gets excited by pulling a knife on someone?_ “You say it like you’re innocent of it,” he said at last. “That scavenger girl could never have killed Leader Snoke on her own, nor dispatched the entire Praetorian guard and defeated you at the same time.”

“No,” Ren said, a slow smile breaking over his face, one of appreciation and forlorn amusement. “What are you waiting for then, Hux? Avenge Snoke. Avenge yourself on me. You already have the support of the military, the throne could easily be yours.” 

“It could be, but what does it say about me, my loyalty -” Hux panted, “if I have your life in my hands like this, and I choose not to kill you?” He lifted the blade from Ren’s throat, saw a thin trickle of blood run from a nick down the side of his neck, found his gaze oddly and irrationally drawn to it. _That’s all he is,_ Hux thought, _Force or not. He’s a man. He bleeds. He hates and loves. Like me._

Hux stepped away from Ren and pushed his sleeve up, switched hands to sheathe the dagger safely. He heard the click of the retaining pin engaging to hold the blade in place, and then pulled his sleeve back down. 

“It tells me that I should promote you to Grand Marshal.” Ren said. He did not reach up to the cut on his neck, probably didn’t feel it at all. 

“I won’t kneel for it,” Hux said. He didn’t want this promotion to be tainted, didn’t want it tossed idly to him like a sop for his ego. “Not to you.” 

“You won’t have to,” Ren whispered softly against his ear. “Let me.” Hux gasped but did not resist as Ren began to crowd him again, those big hands fumbling against the fastenings of his breeches, springing him free.

“That’s not going to make up for what you did,” Hux growled, hissed as Ren palmed the underside of his stiff cock, teased him with the friction. 

“No,” Ren agreed, “but it’s a start. Do you want me to stop?” 

“No. Keep going.” Hux backed himself against the wall and watched with growing hunger as Ren dropped to his knees before his booted feet. Greedy hands tugged down at his open breeches, at the waistband of his underwear. Ren pressed a soft kiss against the sensitive head of Hux’s cock, lapped eagerly at his foreskin, and Hux shuddered at the sensation. His hips stuttered forward, smearing pre-ejaculate wet and slippery over Ren’s slutty mouth. “Look at you,” he whispered, taking a kind of cruel satisfaction in this, “the Supreme Leader, kneeling for me.” 

Ren paused in his attentions, looked up into Hux’s flushed face. “That’s what you really want, don’t you?” he asked, “not so much to be the figurehead as much as the power behind the throne.” 

“Fuck.” Hux gasped, his throat tight as Ren took his cock into the heat of his mouth, _“fuck.”_ Ren’s tongue was velvety, the lining of his cheeks silky-smooth, and Hux reached down to grasp him by the hair with his right hand, began to fuck his mouth. 

“You slut, you _hussy,”_ Hux growled as Ren took him without protest or complaint. It was so good to see those sensual lips wrapped around his cock, to hold Ren’s head still and thrust up into his throat without restraint. This felt better, Hux realized, far better than things had in the past, before Ren’s betrayal, when they had thought they loved each other. 

_In a way hate can be more intense, more satisfying than love ever will be._ Hux was beginning to understand what Ren had meant when he had said that, the rage hot and pure inside him driving his desires on to greater heights. This was power, Hux knew, as Ren closed his fingers on Hux’s hips, tried to pull back slightly, every bit as real and intoxicating as what he had felt when he ordered the shot that destroyed the Hosnian system. 

Hux didn’t bother holding back this time. He spread the fingers of his left hand over the back of Ren’s head, drove himself up and up until he felt the click of Ren’s tonsils sliding over his cockhead. Ren was trembling under his touch, holding his breath, and Hux fucked his throat mercilessly. His balls tingled, ached with need, and a heat and pressure crawled up his spine to zing hotly at the base of his skull. 

Hux was close, so close, his undershirt soaked with sweat, his hair falling into disarray with each desperate stroke, and then he was pulling back, dragging his cock out of Ren’s perfect mouth. Time seemed to slow as he tightened his grip on Ren’s hair, pulled at the roots hard enough to draw a whine out of Ren, and then he was coming, spending himself copiously and eagerly all over Ren’s upturned face. Hux’s knees began to buckle, and he leaned hard against the wall to his back, tried to catch his breath as he watched his spend bead in Ren’s brows and eyelashes, run down his cheeks and chin and sully his open, gasping mouth. 

“Good,” Hux breathed as he straightened back up, began to put his uniform back in order as Ren dropped to all fours, the spunk on his face dripping slowly onto the polished decking beneath him. He collected his belt and buckled it back on, threw his greatcoat over his arm and headed straight to the door, smoothing his hair absently as he did so. 

“I don’t think I can love you, not any more,” Hux said, just before he left, “but hate? I think I can manage that quite well.” 

The door hissed open before Hux, and he heard a soft, choked laugh from behind him. Ren. He paused, turned on his heel to see Ren still kneeling on the floor, wiping come out of his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“I think I can work with that,” Ren said, still breathing hard, and then Hux stepped over the threshold and out into the hallway that would take him to the bridge of the _Finalizer._


End file.
